


A Word Paints A Thousand Pictures

by Archivist_Essa



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, I Love You, Light Angst, Love Confessions, M/M, Present Tense, Synesthesia, post-159, pre-160
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24012619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Archivist_Essa/pseuds/Archivist_Essa
Summary: If a picture paints a thousand words, how many words do you need to paint a picture? And what if the picture isn't something you want to see? But then again.... what if it is?
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 4
Kudos: 59





	A Word Paints A Thousand Pictures

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave me a comment, I absolutely love reading them!!

“I’m not, I’m not good at this, Martin.” 

The words are heavy on his tongue like physical things he has to choose to remove from his mouth. He doesn’t spit them anymore, like he did once long ago, in another time. They fall from his lips one by one, deliberate.

“You don’t have to be good at it, Jon. We’ll work it out together.”

_ Martin _ . Always so soft, so comforting, so good. His words feel like a balm, soothing and satin against his skin. They make him greedy, hunting for more of that feeling, that sense of calm that is so hard to find these days. How could he ever have not heard that? How could he have wasted so long on petty squabbles and blind ignorance?

“I want to be good, for you.”

These words are soft, they fill his mouth like cotton wool. Too much and too big, he will choke on them if he doesn’t set them free. Secrets hidden in them, raindrops in fluffy clouds. Things he isn’t sure he can say out loud but he wants Martin to know them. He thinks Martin might know them already. 

“You are good for me, Jon.”

Honey tasting  _ lies _ . He knows he is not good for Martin. He is not good for anyone. He is the man that ended the world. He is the man that got Timothy Stoker killed. He is the man that forgot Sasha James. He is the man that left Basira and Daisy and Melanie and Georgie behind. Because he is selfish, and stupid, and weak. He is not good for anyone. And Martin deserves the best of it all. 

“I don’t talk about my feelings. I don’t know how. I’m… I’m afraid.”

Sharp. Tiny knives that cut his lips as they leave, creating wounds for the salt of his tears to exacerbate. His tongue is a weapon, it will destroy what he cannot live without. But if he stills it, it will destroy him instead. 

“What are you afraid of, Jon?” 

Gentle and inviting, like a candle in the window on a stormy night. Even now, even here, Martin sounds like home. Like safety. Like belonging. He wants so badly to belong. 

“Past tense.”

It’s not an explanation but it is. It tells Martin all of it, every thought, every moment of doubt, every anxiety and worry and concern. It tells him  _ me too _ and  _ losing you _ and  _ I do know, I did know, I’m sorry, please, I didn’t know how, I’m not good at this.  _

“You don’t have to be. It wasn’t true, the past tense.”

There’s Lonely in those ones. It creeps like fog, drifting across Martin’s face like a dark cloud. But then it passes. The Lonely isn’t the words, just a memory that falls alongside them. But the words smell like cherry blossom and strawberries. They are spring, new beginnings. 

“Then, what I was trying,  _ am  _ trying to say is… I love you.”

It echoes. A truth like that. Around and around, louder and louder, gaining joy with each reverberation.  _ I love you. I love you. I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU!!! _ A heart in the air, but he wasn’t afraid it would fall. It was made of the air, of the words, of the truth in them. And it settled against the cheek of the one it belonged to. 

“I love you too, Jon. Present tense.”

The words were white doves, peace and olive branches, safe harbour after crashing waves, an ending that felt like it began something over again but better this time. He was the man who ended the world. But after all the monsters escape from Pandora’s box, hope remains. And hope, it seemed so obvious now, sounded like Martin Blackwood saying “Present tense.”


End file.
